Regrets
by You2rKillingMe
Summary: He blamed himself for not realizing it sooner, for not speaking his mind when he got the chance, for letting those lies fool him. Angst. M for language. Now two-shots.
1. Chapter 1

**I was watching the news when I got the idea and I didn't want to write it at first, but then I remembered reading this kind of stuffs so I guess why not.**

**Reviews are always welcome.**

**I still don't own Shameless.**

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He woke up on the ground, trying to figure out what happened. He remembered sitting in a truck, listening to the operation briefing as they were transported to the new site. He remembered the sound of explosion, so loud that he thought he would die at that moment. He guessed he didn't.

He lay, floundering in pain, unable to see clearly from all the dust and confused by the indistinct sounds around him. He lay, panting heavily in the dry air, and feeling blood seeping out from his body. He struggled to get up, but failed miserably. He crawled, dragging himself to the nearest wall, and sat up against the stained concrete.

He saw blood leaking through his combat trousers, falling to the floor and getting mixed with dirt. Tears started to form in his eyes. He realized he might not go back. His brother was right. Joining the army was stupid, probably the stupidest thing he'd ever done. He might not get to see his family again. He remembered his sister telling him not to come. He didn't listen. He needed to get out. The only one that could have stopped him wanted nothing to do with him.

_Done is done. You're nothing but a warm mouth to me._

Those words still clung to his memory, haunting him until this day. He only saw him once after he broke it off, the night he got home before he went to war. Somehow, they both ended up in the dugouts. He remembered those blank blue eyes glancing at him in the dark. That was how he hid his emotions. He remembered staring back, fixing him with a glare full of distress and agony, so much that he felt pain in his eyes, hoping he would say something.

He didn't.

"What fucking world do I live in?" He muttered to himself. Of course, the asshole didn't say anything. Why would he? He was just a warm mouth.

He still remembered his face, his expression when he said those words, and the expression he saw the night before he left. He still saw them every time he closed his eyes, after so many years, he still couldn't let go.

Those eyes, looking at him blankly with an empty gaze, still flickered behind his eyelids. He thought he could sense something, screaming in silence, struggling to get out. He wanted to know what it was. Was it the same pain and sadness he felt? Was it hatred and resentment? Or was it something else? Something that was suppressed so deeply inside that it couldn't rise up to the surface.

He wondered what it'd be like if his father didn't walk in on them that day, whether they would still be together. Things were great back then. He started to open up more and more, sharing beer with him, listening to him and commenting back ever so often, trying to get along with his brother, joking about sex with him, and eying him sometimes when he thought he wasn't looking.

He knew how it felt, having him around, talking to him, fucking him senseless, and cuddling him when he was too tired to kick him off the bed. He missed the way he rubbed his thumb on his bottom lip, the way he smirked at him, the way he moaned and bit into him as he came, the way he told him to fuck off, which was his way of showing affection. He missed all that. He missed him. He must see that face again, feel that warm body, hear that voice, and look into those eyes.

"Fuck you," he knew the asshole wouldn't hear him but he felt the need to say it anyway. Part of him knew he wasn't just a warm mouth, but the denying bastard was too much of a coward to even say anything on that matter. He knew he would give up everything to be with him, all his hopes and dreams, if only he would ask.

But he didn't.

Sometimes he blamed himself for what happened back then, for being sloppy, for letting him leave, for not going after him. Sometimes he wondered what would happen if he just told the asshole to cut the crap and then fucking kissed him. He blamed himself for that, for not fighting for what they had. He always thought that one day when he finally found the nerve, he would go and tell him how he felt, how much he wanted to be with him, how much he loved him.

His life was so fucked up. Even though he was dying, the only thing in his mind was the ex-con, what he would do if he didn't go back. He didn't want to think about that, he knew exactly what he would do. He must survive, or it wouldn't be just him. Summoning every bit of strength that was left in his body, he heaved himself off the floor again. He managed to get on his feet but as he took a step forward, gravity mercilessly pulled him back down to face the earth.

He wanted to go back. He needed to go back. He remembered the expression, the gaze he saw that night. That self-loathing dickhead wouldn't forgive him. He wouldn't let him go, not alone anyway. He blamed himself for not realizing it sooner, for not speaking his mind when he got the chance, for letting those lies fool him. He felt light-headed, his vision blurry. His own body was betraying him. He was struggling just to breathe.

He had to go back. He had to see the fucker again. He had to tell him he loved him. He thought as his tears poured down, washing the dirt that was stained with his own blood. He must go back.

He didn't.

And he blamed himself for that.


	2. Chapter 2

There's nothing pretty about this. You've been warned. I wrote this after seeing Ian cry in s03e09. I need angst sometimes. Leave a comment if you want more. I'll probably be in this mood for a while.

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The universe fucking hates me.

I'm sure of that.

Why?

Well, 'cause it sent me here.

Of all places on earth, it fucking decided to send me here.

How fucked-up am I, really?

How fucked-up can one guy be, anyway?

I get you now, you know.

What you said that night, about being fucked up for life.

I get that now.

Hey, guess what! There's worse! Recently, I've come to learn that you can be fucked up in your death, too!

'Cause no matter what I do, I always come back to you.

Didn't mean for it to rhyme, by the way. Wouldn't want you to get upset.

I know firsthand what it's like when you get upset.

Wouldn't want that to happen again.

Though I must admit it'd be nice, you know. You, beating the shit out of me.

'Cause at least, I'd get to feel your touch.

If only I knew that that would be the last time I ever get to touch you. . .

I'd have tried harder, you know, to get some reactions out of you.

Call me insane, but you kicking me in my face doesn't sound that bad compared to this.

This. . .

I don't know what this is.

What am I doing here?

I don't wanna be here.

I really should get going.

And yet, here I am.

The universe fucking hates me, I realize that now.

Even in death, it sent me here to you.

Not my family. Not my friends. You.

You of all people.

It must have known that I wanted to see you.

Maybe it thought it was doing me a favor.

I don't know, what do you think?

The sight of you used to make me happy.

Still does, maybe.

I'm smiling now, by the way.

At how ironic this is.

How happy I am to see you.

I know you hate those things.

Things that make you happy.

You hate them 'cause you think that they won't last long, that they only give you fake promises, fake hopes, that they'll make you suffer all the more when they get fucked up.

And they do get fucked up.

'Cause you always fuck them up.

That was why you got that tattoo, wasn't it? To warn other people in case they were stupid enough to want to get close to you.

I was an idiot, wasn't I? For being that close to you.

I know I did. I got close, too close for your comfort.

That was why you pushed me away.

Come to think of it, maybe I should have left.

I know there was no way I could leave you the first time you went to juvie, but I should've left you the second time.

That was the first time you broke my heart.

You made me feel like shit.

Less than shit.

At least shit counts as something.

You made me believe I was nothing to you.

Took me a long while to put the pieces back together, you know.

I kept repeating what you said.

I'm nothing but a warm mouth. I'm nothing but a warm mouth. I'm nothing but a warm mouth.

It worked. For a while, at least.

Then you came back.

And you told me you missed me.

And I believed you.

Even though your next few sentences made me feel like I was nothing but a warm mouth all over again, I chose to believe that you'd missed me.

So I pretended like nothing ever happened.

And it was worth it.

It was worth it when you got all jealous of me over that 'geriatric viagroid'.

Yes, I still remember the way you used to call him.

You know what? Remind me to thank him for giving you a reason to finally kiss me.

Oh, that kiss.

Do you know how long I waited for you to kiss me?

I know you do. I've made that very clear since the first time we fucked.

But do you know how much I wanted it? How much I craved it?

I used to imagine what it'd be like, you know?

You. . .

Kissing me.

I used to think about how sweet it would be, how your lips would feel pressing on mine, our tongues dancing alongside each other's.

Thinking about it made me smile.

'Cause I knew one day you'd realize you wanted it, too.

And then it'd happen. You'd kiss me.

Just fucking thinking about that made me feel like the happiest person on earth.

I know you'd tell me to shut the fuck up right now if you could hear me.

Well, you can't.

And yet, here I am, talking to you.

Somehow I just can't let you go.

How could I?

You got me good.

Those times with you were the happiest time of my life.

Unlike you, I believe every person can find their happiness.

Even you, asshole.

And I was convinced I was the person that could give it to you.

'Cause you were the person that gave me mine.

I was an idiot.

Still am.

But I was a happy idiot.

You've given me the best time of my life.

It was worth it.

Even if it didn't last.

I remember standing with Mandy waiting for you the first time you got out.

I remember seeing your face, your smile.

I remember how my heart fluttered the moment I saw you walking out.

My heart flutters just thinking about it now.

And that night.

That night, we talked.

You shared that beer with me.

I don't know if it meant anything to you but it meant the world to me.

It tasted so good.

Not the beer, but the warmth of your lips on it.

So tempting. So tantalizing. So alluring.

It kept me longing.

Did you know I thought I'd somehow died and gone to heaven when you finally kiss me? 'Cause that's how good it was to me.

It made me glad to be alive.

I bet you didn't.

Remember the other night? The night you invited me for a sleepover.

I thought my cheeks would fall off for smiling too much.

You made me dinner.

It was the best meal I've ever tasted my whole life.

I love that it was slightly burned 'cause that was how our relationship felt like.

It was perfect, nonetheless.

You were perfect for me.

And I was perfect for you, no matter what you chose to believe.

Still don't believe me? Well, I don't blame you.

You've never seen the look in your eyes when we fucked facing each other.

What it felt like to slam in and out of you, hard and fast as you cursed and moaned for more.

Not in that night, of course. You just got shot in the ass.

You were all bitchy about how it hurt so I spared you.

Remember how mad you were when I said that out loud?

I do.

How can I not?

You fucked the hell out of me after that.

I don't remember ever being so tired more than I was that night.

And I wasn't the one doing the fucking.

You got me completely spent, that night.

The way you entered me. How you felt when you got inside me, pounding into me.

And you kept it coming, round after round.

Damn, it was good.

The way you looked at me when you fucked me face-to-face.

You know what was going on in my head the moment I saw that?

I figured I could die happy.

And I thought I was actually gonna die from the pleasure.

I love all of it.

It was amazing.

You were amazing.

You've always been amazing.

To me, it was more than just fucking.

It was making love.

I love you.

And I know you love me.

It was all on your face when you saw your dad hit me.

You let your dad beat the shit out of you to protect me.

Me who ruined your life.

And I couldn't even look at you when that prostitute raped you.

It all went to hell after that.

You wouldn't talk to me.

I tried to act tough, you know.

I tried to make you see that I was okay.

Even though I wasn't.

Far from that, actually.

I wanted to be there for you.

I wanted to be with you, even if it killed me.

Above all, I wanted you to be there for me.

And when I finally got you to speak, it got even worse.

Why couldn't you just admit that you loved me?

You didn't even have to say it. All you had to do was just nod, and it would have all been okay.

I love you.

And I know you love me.

You should've seen your face after you fag-bashed me.

It was priceless.

It confirmed that you loved me.

It was worth it.

Knowing that beating me made you feel better was worth all the pain.

And I could live like that, you know.

Being your punching bag for the rest of my life would have all been worth it 'cause at least I'd be your something.

But you left.

You left me alone.

I don't remember crying harder than I did after you left me that time.

You broke me.

And I couldn't talk to anyone 'cause I didn't want to make it worse for you.

All I had was a bag of frozen crap to console me while my family members were laughing downstairs.

It made me feel fairly suicidal, you know.

And it wasn't my first time.

But I couldn't do that to them.

Most of all, I couldn't do that to you.

I knew you wouldn't be able to live with yourself if that happened.

So I carried on living without you.

It fucking sucked.

It made me believe for the first time that maybe life wasn't worth living after all.

I take that back, what I said earlier.

I don't get you.

Never did. Probably never will.

I know you felt something.

Even if it wasn't love, I know it was something.

Why couldn't you just admit that?

Sometimes, I wished that I never fucked you, that I never knew you.

Who am I kidding? You are the best thing that ever happened to me.

You fucking suck, you know that?

And yet, I love you.

I don't believe there will ever be a day that I don't.

You look good, by the way.

Not good good, but you good.

Glad you haven't gotten yourself killed all these years.

It's nice hearing your heart beating.

Oh, hey, Mandy. What are you doing here?

Wanna join me? I was just talking to your brother about how fucked-up I am for loving him.

No, no. Don't cry. Just go to him. You are the only person in the world whom he ever admits to caring about. I'm sure he knows a way to comfort you.

Why are you crying, anyway? What happened?

Can you speak a little louder? I can't hear what you're saying.

In fact, I can't hear anything but him. What's going on, Mands? Why're you crying like the world is going to end any seconds?

Why make that face, Mick? What's so important that you bother to make that face for?

Why don't you say anything?

Where are you going? Your sister is crying. Be there for her, damn it.

Oh, you're going for a walk, huh? Want me to go with you? It's not like I have a choice, anyway. I'm tied to you in my death.

What is this place? What are you hoping to accomplish from being here?

Ah, now I know. There your dad is. Is this where he hangs out with his friends? And you are here why? Wanna fill him in with the thing with Mandy maybe? Shouldn't you know by now that he doesn't give a shit about her? Didn't she tell you your dad got her pregnant at some point?

What are you saying, Mick? Have you lost your mind? Why are you telling them that?

They're grabbing their weapons, Mick. Stop talking. Tell them it was a joke or some shit. Tell them you didn't mean what you said.

Stop! Shit, just stop! Stop hitting him! Stop hitting my Mickey! Don't you all see that he'll die if you keep hitting him like this?

Stop. Please, I beg you. Stop. Terry, please. Tell them to stop and call a fucking ambulance. Your son is dying.

Fuck, Mick. Why did you do that?

They're done with you now. Call an ambulance, Mick.

Mickey, please. Call a fucking ambulance. You're really gonna die if you don't.

Why are you laughing? This is no time for that, Mick. Call an ambulance or you'll fucking die!

Fuck. Did they hit your head so hard you lost your mind? Why are you smiling or smirking or whatever it is you're doing?

You're bleeding to death, Mick. Blood is staining the floor. Your blood! So much for laughing now, huh? Your lungs collapsing make it hard to do so?

What the fuck were you thinking? Why did you fucking tell them that? What did Mandy tell you? Why don't you fucking say anything?

Oh. . .

Never mind.

I know that now.

She told you I'm dead, didn't she?

You have no right, you know.

After what you did.

You left me alone all these years. You acted like I didn't matter to you. You have no right to die after me.

Do you hear what I'm saying? You have no right to die!

I'm sure the universe didn't send me here to see this. It sent me here to find my peace. Seeing you like this only makes it worse.

You must live, for me. . .

I'll never ask anything from you ever again, just live.

Please.

It'll be a great death just spending time watching you live.

Please, Mick, do something.

Just this once.

You don't have to prove anything to me.

I know you love me.

And I love you.


End file.
